


The 17th Exchange

by Zinfandel



Series: Waiting For You [1]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Consensual Violence, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-05
Updated: 2013-03-05
Packaged: 2017-12-04 09:17:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/709111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zinfandel/pseuds/Zinfandel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack Frost gets bold and switches up their routine a bit. Pitch is amused but finds he cannot cope with the repercussions. </p><p>A fight fic where their friendship grows through violence and they learn about each other along the way. hopefully.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Fight

**Author's Note:**

> Pretty rough. unbeta'd. I'm being pretty self indulgent because I don't write fics...ever. this is my first one, and I'm just having fun exploring violence and friendship. (i can't handle blood in real life but damn do I like it here!)

Pitch hadn’t seen hide nor hair of the boy in a few months. Jack had been actively searching him out and they were dueling more in the past year than the other 6 combined. He could not decide whether he liked or loathed this peace.

His absence made Pitch have to think. After his defeat those few meager years ago, the king’s existence was…bland. The initial months were tedious. His Nightmares, those that survived the golden dream sand conversions, those who had turned on him, needed reminded of their loyalties. He spent the months after his initial beating tracking them down and reconquering the rogues. His power wasn’t really anything less than what it had been before he put his plot into action that Easter, so the task was tiresome but not overly difficult. The Nightmares were certainly a boost in forces but his own abilities were trained and sharpened over the years despite his few believers and though the surge in fear he managed to squeeze out of the world was heady and all that he hoped, he could make due back at square one.

Square one wasn’t enough to beat all 4 guardians but it certainly covered his efforts to corral his wayward steeds and resume his more intimate tactics to gain believers. His scheme hadn’t been a total loss either. The Guardians certainly knew it when their damage control started. Those two chaotic days without memories left the children afraid, more susceptible to his charms. He had gained a fair pool of new believers whose experiences were only added onto the memories that flooded back to them once the tooth capsules were reactivated.

But then Jack Frost came again. Jack Frost forced him back down into his pit for a second time. That was his mistake. Licking his wounds in the dark he continued cautiously on his way, trying his damnedest to thrust this second bitter defeat to the back of his mind.

The boogeyman felt the tingling of giddy elation at their second fight when he finally won. Long deserved in his opinion. But that confidence was quickly stolen at Jack’s 3rd victory over him.

In Vienna Pitch was going to surprise attack the brat and finish the job. He couldn’t for the life of him however find the right moment to strike and found himself stalking the spirit across the city until the boy fled to find another afternoon. It hadn’t even occurred to him then what his hesitation was. Now however he was beginning to understand as he sat and festered in solitude once more because of Jack’s fickle absence.

He couldn’t place it. Maybe he refused to place it, but the boy fascinated him – he didn’t try to know why. No. Now he knew why. The brat of a child had managed to get to him. He had sunk his claws in and by the time Jack’s face is a frozen bloody pulpy mess he can’t deny that it was fun.

He didn’t know whether to cringe or grin at the word. Fun. Pitch’s brand of fun was a more subdued thing. A quiet appreciation of his surroundings, of his handiwork; Pride in his craft. Jack foisted this boisterous activity upon him and he couldn’t escape. He would argue he was fighting for his life but then he would have to guiltily that Jack probably stopped being lethal by their 4th match.

If Jack’s center was Fun, how all-encompassing was it? Could the Kid condone murder if the perpetrator had enjoyed it? This got a quiet nasally chuckle. Could Jack approve rape if the attacker swore it was all in good-fun? Laughter! These were ridiculous musings. But! Intimate encounters were most certainly a very specific brand of fun…Did Ja—

An icy wind promptly interrupted Pitch’s long reverie. Jack Frost. Here in his home. Pitch quickly stood and dissipated into his shadows.

There he was. Jack was on the bridge leading to the globe. The cages above creaked and groaned from the foreign wind’s activity within the cavern. Was he? Yes. The winter sprite was indeed wearing Pitch’s gift. The black sweatshirt complemented pale skin so very well, ah and the filigreeing frost is so much more visible and beautiful on his cuffs and hems. But what was that? Jack was also wearing a tight leather…bandolier? Holster? Whatever the garment was strapped across his chest Pitch dismissed as he silently formed his scythe to strike first.

SWISH! The wickedly curved blade cut through the air downwards straight at Jack’s head. There wasn’t even hesitation as Jack leapt forwards in a graceful rolling dodge.

Skittering ahead a few feet Jack twirled to face Pitch crouched on the ground. He quickly held up his hands, palms out in surrender his staff resting gently in the crook of one thumb to try and force a halt. “W-wait! Pitch!”

He stopped but remained tensed in his battle stance. “Why should I?”

“I uh…have a favor to ask of you?”

He scoffed. “And why should I ever grant you a favor?”

Now Jack’s grin reappeared. “Because…It will be fun,” he said, finally standing up.

There was that word again. He didn’t know how to handle it…just moments ago he was thinking about… The relaxation of his limbs as he straightened up holding his scythe off to the side seemed to be Jack’s prompt to continue.

“I want to try something different today and well…If it doesn’t work out could you please not decommission me so well as last time? I might actually have a scar.”

Pitch smirked. What a favor indeed. “It depends. What are you scheming?”

“I think you’ll like it.” Jack laughs, his bell-like sound echoing through the cavern. The next moment he is threading his staff into the sheath on his back. Ah so that’s what it was.

Now it’s Pitch’s turn to chuckle. “You can’t seriously be trying to challenge me to a fist-fight!”

Jack is beaming as he loudly claps his hands together. “Not in your life.” And with that the boy diverts his attention to his hands and concentrates. Ever so slowly he pulls his palms apart, crystalline ice forming between them. He keeps pulling and molding his creation, while Pitch is a little mystified.

And suddenly Pitch has a toothy grin.

“Shostakovich!” Jack laughs and in each hand is an identical ice replica of North’s beloved sabers. He doesn’t give the Boogeyman much time for admiration though and charges straight at him weapons gleaming.

The scythe blocks the attack easily both blades digging slightly into the shaft. Amazement doesn’t cross his features but in his mind that such a fragile substance as ice can take such a strong form in the hands of the sprite.

Jack leaps back twirling midair the blades cutting the wind and throwing a gust back towards him. Pitch blocks it again, standing his ground letting the boy attack for a while longer before taking the offensive himself.

Jack’s lead is immediately relinquished as Pitch charges and strikes. He blocks with his swords crossed overhead and a dusting of snow disappears into his hair as the shadow blade shaves away some sharpness. In the brief pause before they force their momentum to switch, Jack’s breath is heavy. The boy flips downwards hovering over the bridge and charges in his own right. But right before his blades meet Pitch’s block once more he feigns and twirls to the side swinging his legs up and knocking the scythe clean from the Nightmare King’s hands resulting in its immediate dissipation.

And the fight continues on like this for another hour. Jack is combining his double weapon offensive with his acrobatic and graceful close combat style. The wind is gleeful in its aid as it amplifies the gusts from singing edges that slice through the gloom. He twists and turns and flits through the air probably landing more hits with his feet than with the swords.

The Nightmare King admittedly has a tough time countering such a wide variety of attacks in his partner’s repertoire. But the fights were never easy. He wouldn’t let them continue as they have for so long if his victories had been more numerous.

The fight finishes with one of Jacks mock sabers shattering on an upward slash right into the sharp underside of the scythe. The shadow weapon slams into the rock, ice tinkling like glass, and Jack stumbles backwards dropping the few inches out of the air to the cold stone.

His breath is heavy with exertion and Jack falls back kicking his feet out in front of him to land in a leisurely position on the bridge. His eyes are almost immediately off Pitch as he examines his remaining saber, tsking at all the nicks and chips along the blade. He carelessly tosses the weapon aside and it skitters to a rest down the slope of the arching structure. His breath has finally evened out.

“Finished already? I barely broke a sweat.”

“Hey man. That was hard!” Jack heaves. “Was it fun though? Just like North! I’ve been practicing my Russian.”

“North isn’t nearly as fast and he is far stronger. You are nothing like him.”

“Fine! But did you have fun?”

Why is he pressing this? Pitch straightens up, the scythe dissolving and he smooth’s out his robe with a swift flick downward. He looks back up to those cerulean orbs and sighs in defeat. “Color me amused, Jack.”

The ease of this conversation is staggering. The boy’s face is so open and friendly Pitch finds he can do little to help spur it on. Not that he is contributing much; Jack still has complete victory on this front.

“Hah! Great! I can’t wait to try the boomerangs, bombs, and the whips! Oh the whips are fun Pitch.” He says through breathless laughter while twisting around to retrieve his staff from his back. The length of it makes it a bit awkward but he finally frees it and lays it across his lap.

“Is there a reason you are mimicking the Guardian’s weapons?”

“Not really, I just thought it might be interesting to learn their perspectives….I can’t very well fight with icy wings though…that is pointless.”

“The Tooth Fairy once wielded double sabers like North. She can also command the swarm.” He says dryly, those memories don’t amuse him.

“A swarm of ice fairies….”

Pitch rolls his eyes “That sounds tedious and dull.”

Jack laughs at that. He is so quick to mirth and yet it always catches Pitch off guard, especially in this dark hole where laughter hasn’t rung for hundreds of years – till today.

“Are you finished then?”

“Yeah making those swords is exhausting.”

“Then remove yourself.”

“What? Why!” He’s on his knees quick as lightning leaning forward, one hand gripping his upright staff the other out in question.

His teeth grind together “What are you trying to achieve with this?” He bites back harshly.

Finally. Finally Jack takes a moment to actually think! At least Pitch hopes that is what the pause is for. He fears the worst when a sheepish, almost nervous smile graces the boy’s lips.

“Uh…Friendly conversation?”

Tense shoulders, tense jaw, tense everything accompanies a tense reply, “We are not friends.”

Jack leaps to his feet his arms arcing wide open “But what about the sweatshirt? What about Peru and Tibet? What about Belgium?! What about today?!”

His questions are met with a snarl and a slash. Immediately Jack falls to the ground in a crouching dodge the blade whistling past his hair. The sprite rolls and scrambles backwards before kicking off into the air.

“Get out!”

“But Pitch!”

The air becomes tight and alive. The dim light in the cave seems to flicker and below Jack the shadows roil and writhe alive with eyes. There it is. Pitch can taste the fear now. He licks his lips and charges an unholy shriek accompanying the barrage at the last beacon of light in his realm. The cages clank and rattle viciously as waves of inky blackness, pin-pricked with eyes like the stars so far above, rise up with their commander.

He relishes in the shudder he can see the boy try to hide. He loves those wide blue eyes alight with shock and fear.

The onslaught is met evenly. Anger, confusion, and hurt squash the fear as the shriek is met with a shout. Blue lighting like ice crackles forth and consumes the cresting shadows. The next moment all that can be heard is hissing massive white noise as sand falls from the air lifeless. Its assailant does likewise.

Pitch is mollified. Jack’s retaliation, the same as when Sanderson was crippled, had thrust him back slamming him into a far wall. He is even coated in ice. It clings to his robes, skin, and hair and as he hauls himself from its clutches it shatters easily tinkling quietly far below. He retreats into his shadows and finds Jack easily. The boy is on the ground amid swathes of dormant nightmare sand breathing heavily propped up on his elbows. Pitch does not engage.

Tense. Jack feels that tingle of magic in the base of his skull and he is tense. His breath comes in ragged tired gasps through clenched jaws, his fingers like claws in the sand, frost etching the grains agitatedly. He is stronger by far than the first time. With the exertion of his sword craft that took out his energy in an hour that normally lasts 8 at least and this little stunt he should be in oblivion.

A moment longer and Pitch is emerging from the shadows. Jack’s fear spikes. It is a disbelieving startled thing that finds its way to his tongue. He barely has one foot in the sand however when Jack tenses and acts.

Without even standing up the sprite’s heels dig into the sand and he scrambles away finding his balance up into a run. He bolts up the stairs and climbs onto the bridge he came in from retreating as quickly as possible back down the tunnel, his feet never leaving the ground. Pitch his still until the air is once more stale with disuse.

Silently he gathers up his sand, the silhouettes mocking real creatures reform and disperse back to their business, albeit begrudgingly and in foul moods. Soon all that is left is the occasional groan of ancient chains as cages resettle. Frost that had briefly coated everything in the confined space is melting and evaporating, the evidence of their first match is almost gone. His mind is blank, as numb as ice. He cannot even start to process what he knows will soon consume him.

A glint catches his eye and Pitch glances down. A few tiny diamonds litter the floor? He steps over and leans in ever so slightly to get a better look. No. not diamonds, a few are already miniature melted pools, like raindrops. Tears.


	2. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack's reaction and decision after the fallout.

Shit shit shit. It wasn’t supposed to go this way, Jack was certain! He was without a doubt positive that Pitch and he had a good relationship! What went wrong?! No. He knew. Once again he made a mess of things. He jumped the gun and said that taboo word.

Ever since Belgium he had been working towards it. He didn’t even realize his subconscious goals until Jamie asked after Tibet. But that was two years ago now and they had 7 more duels since that were nothing but merry. He would swear on his life that the Boogeyman was enjoying it too.

The moods of the duels were palpable. Their earliest were hateful, but that quickly fell away to tentative confusion by the third one. Then they ran into routine and Jack would never admit it (while it was happening) but they became comfortable in their silent onslaught. Confusion set in again when Jack realized it was entertaining but he quickly resolved his anxieties. And there-after the fighting between the two had morphed from his do-or-die chore to a great past-time to sprinkle in-between his normal activities.

Now however, he couldn’t help but wonder if he assumed too much? After Belgium their dialog resumed. It stagnated from their third fight in Jack’s fury and he was sore for it. He had wasted so much time as he looked back on it to try and coax the man into conversation. Sure Jack was limited to pestering him between blows and everything that was said was in the realm of down-right rude to stupidly snarky, but it was working!

He had proof it was working! Before he slipped up he was lounging on the floor of the devil’s own hideout laughing and joking with the man himself! He is still wearing his gift for crying out loud! (He actually laughed out loud from Jamie’s gaping open mouth. Jamie was the only one who guessed where that hoodie came from and He was the only one who Jack confided in about the whole thing. He got strange looks from the other guardians at his new attire but he shrugged off the questions easily. (One of his kids gifted it to him after he tore his blue one tumbling down a hill. He couldn’t refuse!))

He punched a tree in frustration as his mind looped back to his hasty and frightful retreat only to finally realize his whereabouts. He had climbed out of Pitch’s hole and run the whole way back to his lake hardly realizing his actions. His lungs strained with exertion and exhaustion from their fight, he was still too weak to fly and the running hadn’t helped one jot. Flexing his hand he collapsed unceremoniously into the snow and leaned his back up against the tree.

Every time! He botched things up almost at every turn. Even after ten years of guardianship he was still considered the kid in the group, he still played too ‘rough’ with the children, and he still rushed headstrong into dangerous situations. This thing he started with Pitch had his trademark all over it. The others even reprimanded him when he told them proudly after his second win against the villain (He never made that mistake again.).

Ah, shit. He would think about this later. Right now he needed to rest and regain some strength. He was a little wary since his pond was so close to that one entrance to the lair but he was also feeling reckless in his anger. Maybe being vulnerable would coax the Boogeyman from his lair? Who knew. All Jack did know was that he wasn’t going to give up.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you might think of it?


End file.
